Today at Metazen we have a piece called The Baby Birds by Scott McClanahan.
Scott McClanahan wrote a book called Stories and then he wrote a book called Stories II. Stories II is pink. On the cover there is a foot with six toes painted pink. The only words on the back of the book are Yo El Rey. Scott McClanahan is from West Virginia. His stories mostly take place in West Virginia.
The first thing the book says is “I just wanted to be changed.” Scott uses simple, conversational sentences in his writing. He makes you feel sad about animals like a dog named Hernia Dog.
Stories II is funny in the beginning but sadder in the end. Suicide is contagious. Walt Whitman is a quest. Prison Guards murder. These things are in this book. Sometimes Scott wrote something in CAPS and it made me laugh. Some stories exist among very minimal means but cast some deep shape.I like Stories II and I think it is worth 18 dollars.
I read Stories II on a plane from Copenhagen to London. There were four British bitches bitching in the seats behind me and I asked them to be quite so I could read Stories II in peace but they were British bitches and forced me to read amidst their bitching. I put myself into a meditative state and read Stories II with an odd, pressurized noise-filled calmness that allowed me to soak the words in in a special way.
I felt things when I read the stories, like real emotions. I went back to my computer in London and wikipedia’d West Virginia. God Dammit they made Sandra Bullock. Scott McClanahan loves his wife. Stories II is dedicated to Sarah.
I did an interview with Scott which you should see below:
Metazen: After reading the first two pieces in Stories II I felt like we had been sitting down and having a genuine conversation. The prose is simplistic and minimal but also really welcoming. Can you talk about about how you put together this kind communication?
McClanahan: Really all you have to do is just add the words “and” and “so” to your sentences and they immediately become great literature. Shakespeare, the King James Bible, Twain, Gogol, they all do it.
Just remember kids— “and” and “so.” “And” and “so.” Add the magic words and watch your stories charm the bees knees off the bees.
Metazen: What about the lines between fact and fiction? How much of what is in these stories are true?
McClanahan: Stories I and II are made up of 2,600 true sentences, 4,324 fictional sentences, and 8,256 sentences that are combinations of both fictional and true material. I like to hedge my bets as best as I can.
Honestly though, when the Spike Lee film Malcolm X came out my friend’s grandfather bought a black X hat. It’s a bit unusual because my friend’s grandfather was an old retired white coal miner. He called it his number 10 hat.
He just thought it was a cool ass hat with a roman numeral on it, like roman numeral ball caps were going to be the wave of the future—V, VI, CCII. He had no clue about the product tie in to the Spike Lee film.
Of course, I’m not sure if this story is factual, but it’s TRUE. All good stories are true. Most people can’t even tell a true story, let alone make some shit up.
My theory of literature is this: people only like writers who look cool in photographs. It’s why Rimbaud is immortal and William Dean Howells will soon be forgotten. William Dean Howells took a shit photograph.
Metazen: Rimbaud looks like he would daydream during sex.
McClanahan: Exactly. The photo of Rimbaud we know is from Dec. 1871. There’s a photo from two months earlier where he looks pug nosed, and chubby. Rimbaud is not Rimbaud if that’s the photo we know him from.
It’s the same thing with writer’s lives. I mean who really likes the poetry of Lord Byron? Now the life of Byron, there’s a real poem.
Metazen: A lot of people have talked about your book making them cry. The tone seems consciously funny but every story has a kind of dark sadness to it. Can you talk about what kind of complexion you were going for when you wrote the book?
McClanahan: Yeah I don’t know about those soft bastards. They need to shake a leg to keep the ants from crawling up and eating their candy asses.
I’ve always felt when you’re joking, you’re at your most serious and when you’re at you’re most serious, you’re usually just a joke.
I do know that emotion is very uncool nowadays. It’s like everyone is suffering from Aspergers syndrome. I was just trying to communicate my feelings—that’s all.
Metazen: Although it comes off as really sincere. I keep remembering David Foster Wallace declaring that irony needs to die in literature and sincerity needs to rise up. The good and the bad and the serious and the funny came out pretty genuine. It was the closest thing to drinking in a bar with you. I drank a lot while reading this.
Do you really think suicide is contagious like that? How does one escape that kind of plague?
McClanahan: I’m not sure about escaping it, but I know one day we’re going to find out that schizophrenia, murder, common criminality are all just things you pick up like the common cold. This whole fascination with genetics is a blind a alley really. The gene only pre-disposes you to pick something up.
Of course, Wallace is the perfect example of my theory of literary superficiality. He’ll last for awhile because he had the whole doo-rag wearing gimmick.
I’ve actually been thinking about starting to wear an eye patch or a monocle for this very reason. I’m telling you a cool picture+ wardrobe gimmick+ unusual or early death equals literary immortaltiy.
Metazen: I think having a metallic hook would put you in to the zone.
McClanahan: It’s either that or a wheelchair.
Metazen: So can you talk a bit about how some of these stories came together? Like Baby Birds…talk about some things that sparked the stories.
McClanahan: I’ll be completly honest with you (never trust a man who says he’s being honest). These were just stories from my life and I wrote them down to tell my wife Sarah. That’s all.
The published stories are actualy old, but they’re the ones I wrote to make her fall in love with me. This isn’t some phoney MFA excercise or ego trip bullshit. I was just trying to get a peek at her ribbons and her bows if you know what I mean.
I guess you could look at everything I’ve done as just one giant love letter. The funny thing is I started publishing just for kicks. I just wanted her to be able to see her name in a book. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it’s that simple. I think all women should be able to see their name in a book (that is if they’re not writing the book themselves).
I won’t rest until Sarah is as famous a Petrarch’s Laura, or Beatrice.
Metazen: That’s mighty sweet. So you wrote stories to get hooked up. (Time out: coz that half made me tear up like when a dog dies in a movie or something).
What are you working on now? Are you writing anything new?
McClanahan: I’ve finished a novel called Hillbilly. I have a new book of stories (Stories V!) ready to go as well. The storybook has an exclamation mark in the title. I’m trying to start a new trend with exclamation marks in titles. You wait and see. It’s going to happen.
I have one last book to finish—Crapalachia and then I’m done with the whole writing racket for awhile. There’s a great story about this writer Juan Rulfo who ony wrote two books. He always said he got all of his material from an uncle who told stories.
One day a journalist asked him why he wasn’t writing anymore. He said, “My uncle died.”
Metazen: Ha. That’s funny. What is it about Rick Flair that is so appealing? Don’t you think he was all puff? I’m a Bret Hart supporter.
McClanahan:
Of course, it’s that ambiguity that makes Flair so interesting. Flair is really linked to an old theatricality that you rarely see anymore—he’s a direct descendent of Gorgeous George. We need more vicious peacocks in this world (whether it’s the writing world or the wrestling world).
Aren’t we all tired of skinny boy writers who look like they weigh less than 140 pounds and all have on the same uniform? It’s almost worse than the weird beard writers who are always babbling on about wheat beers or The National or some crap like that. I’m not against much, but I’m against bearded writers and writers who weigh less than 140 pounds.
I’m also against how wrestling has completely moved into this new post-modern phase. It admits its fake, which is a real tragedy. They call it entertainment for god sakes. With Flair there was still this dangerous edge about him—you weren’t real sure if he wasn’t going home and beating his girlfriend afterwards. A man who dies his hair platinum blonde is a dangerous man if you ask me.
In the end though, we’re probably dealing with an issue of geography Frank. You probably know Flair from WWF, but his true glory period was with Ted Turner’s old school NWA. I’ll give props to the Canadian Harts though of the Great White North.
I think the great historian Oswald Spengler said it best, “You can tell the overall health of a culture by the professional wrestlers it produces.”
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Scott McClanahan is the author of Stories and Stories II (published by Six Gallery Press). His other works include Hillbilly, Stories 5!, The Nightmares and Crapalachia (all forthcoming). www.hollerpresents.com
